


Busy Being Yours

by bettervillains



Series: Wool Skirt/Leather Jacket [2]
Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 06:10:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7628110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bettervillains/pseuds/bettervillains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You ripped my shirt," Erin announced, clearing her throat, "So I get to rip yours."</p><p>"Is that how this works?"</p><p>"Equivalent exchange. It's only fair."</p><p>"Well," Holtz replied, "That's good science. Can't argue with that."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Busy Being Yours

**Author's Note:**

> As promised to Myrcella_Targaryen, acidmilkstar, and anonymouslass, the sequel to "Simmer Down and Pucker Up", now with an appearance by a cat. 
> 
> I promise to abandon the Arctic Monkeys and move on to other titles after this one. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Holtzmann's apartment, unsurprisingly, was above a museum.

Erin glanced briefly at the sign posted by the elevator (MUSEUM OF HONORARY ANIMAL DEGREES) as Holtz tugged her arm, towards the ding and the squeaky slide of polished steel.

"Am I boring you?" Holtz murmured, sly, Erin's arm clasped to her side, fingers tangled together. 

Erin shook her head. "I mean you're... you didn't say anything. Like, the whole cab ride over. So, no — I mean..."

The doors opened with another chime, as if to punctuate. Holtz abandoned her arm in favor of retrieving her keys, a ring slung with a few dozen in varying shapes and sizes. It was a small orange one that fit in the lock, and Erin watched her fingers stop mid turn, glancing up at her. 

"I didn't really clean up. Didn't think I'd have company."

"That's okay I don't... um, can't say I really care."

Holtz smiled. "Just want to get into my pants, huh."

Erin turned a shade of red that defied scientific explanation.

"Holtzmann, I —"

But she was already gone, slipping inside the doorway in a movement Erin could only describe as troutlike in nature. After a moment to steel herself, she followed.

The apartment was cluttered — there was no ignoring that, with heaps of books and scraps of steel and wires littering every available surface in the small living room. Erin glanced around briefly, then met Holtzmann's eyes — the engineer was leaning back against the kitchen counter, shielding a pile of dirty dishes in the sink. 

"I don't have anything to drink," she said, abrupt, voice almost — strained? Nervous?

Erin smiled. "I'm not really thirsty."

Another long moment passed in silence, until, at last, Holtzmann moved towards her, hands thrust in her pockets. She had discarded the jumpsuit at the lab, swapped it out for a long coat with the sleeves rolled hastily up to her elbows. It hung down along her legs, nudging at the faded button down and the tailored pants long worn threadbare. Her boots, almost comical, thunked against the floorboards, step by step, until she was close enough to tug at the buttons of Erin's blazer.

"I ripped your shirt."

"You did. It was kinda..."

Holtzmann met her eyes. The sentiment couldn't have been more clear if it had been written across Erin's eyelids. 

"Yeah?"

Erin nodded.

"I have a bedroom it's — over there," Holtz pointed, free arm resting on Erin's waist. 

"Then we should... could, we could... go... be in it," Erin finished, inwardly cringing. 

"You're cute when you're butchering the English language," Holtzmann drawled, tugging her flush, cutting off any argument with a press of her lips. Erin's hands found their way into her hair, fingers trailing down the back of her neck...

"Works for me," she breathed, and Holtzmann half-dragged, half-marched them over to the bedroom. 

The bed was small. There'd be no escaping that, a fact which made Erin's mind leap to the Tetris-like maneuvers two bodies would need to perform to fit in it. Just as Erin was about to sit on the edge — 

"Wait!"

Erin froze, as Holtzmann reached around and scooped up a dark grey fluffy mutt of a cat with a jagged scar across its face. 

"Phineas has a way of getting in the way, don't you?"

The cat blinked at Erin, in the way that groggy kings blink at insolent subjects. 

"I'm gonna go feed him. Get comfortable?"

Erin nodded, walking around the bed awkwardly as Holtzmann spun the cat out of the room. She was a twister of kinetic energy and gallant genius, and Erin... Erin the ghost girl had for so long needed something tangible, something she could touch.

She kicked off a shoe, and heard it clang against something under the bed.

It was a steel crate, the kind one might find ammunition in, or a supercomputer or some scientist's maybe dead cat. Erin froze. Could she be keeping a dead cat under her bed? Curiosity got the best of her, and the padlock was loose, so she knelt, slowly slipping it free, tugging the lid upwards —

And then slamming it shut. 

"Oh my god," she murmured, "Oh my —"

"You rang?"

Erin jumped. Holtzmann was leaning against the doorway as if she were indeed a god, or at the very least a god's gift to women. 

"What is all this —" She gestured vaguely to the box of... "Uh, this stuff?"

Holtz smiled, a stomach twisting, heart warming, spine tingling expression that seemed permanently fixed on her face, "Experiments."

"Ex —" Erin swallowed, "Most people buy their 'experiments'. In a store. Or online. With... with label free packaging."

"Is that how you got yours?"

Erin's eyes snapped up. Holtzmann was smirking again as she shut the door, crossed the room to sit on the bed, and began kicking off her boots.

"I don't have —"

"Right, no, you're waaaay too tightly wound."

Erin shoved her leg. Holtzmann giggled. After another pause —

"Wanna try one?"

"No!"

"No?"

"No," Erin said, hotly, cheeks burning. "No, I'm fine with just —"

She faltered. Curiosity was all well and good, but at the heart of it all there was still... indecision. The possibility of regret. She swept it all under the bed with Holtzmann's box.

"Just...?" Holtz pressed.

"Just you," she muttered, finally. When she looked up and met her eyes again, Holtzmann's expression had shifted to somewhere between patience and affection.

"Just me," Holtzmann murmured, "I kinda like that." 

She pulled Erin up gently by the hand, pressed her lips to her knuckles. Erin blushed, then blushed at herself for blushing. Stupid blood vessels. She'd been a professor, been in charge of an entire classroom. She could do it again, here, now, one on one. Just take charge...

"You ripped my shirt," Erin announced, clearing her throat, "So I get to rip yours."

"Is that how this works?"

"Equivalent exchange. It's only fair."

"Well," Holtz replied, "That's good science. Can't argue with that."

It would be good science, crazy science, when it worked, Erin thought, furious as her fingers tugged and pulled and wrenched, and the buttons, as stubborn as she'd been for years, refused to tear.

"Fuck," Erin hissed, tugging one last time before she found herself pressed down on her back, Holtzman's hands tugging at the shirt in her stead, lips pressed hard against her jaw, teeth grazing up into a kiss. 

"You, Dr. Gilbert, are very hot when you swear," Holtz sighed, eyes dark, "So I'm going to help."

"Help?"

"Yeah, help. So I can hear that again. A lot more. And louder."

Holtz pulled back, just long enough for a coy smile. Erin blinked up at her. 

"Yeah. A lot louder."

She leaned down to kiss her again, but Erin reached up, placed a hand firmly on her sternum. 

"You got a turn."

Holtz raised an eyebrow. 

"At the lab. You got a turn. It's my turn."

"You want a turn?"

"I want a turn."

Holtz shrugged, unbuttoned her shirt and ditched it in a casual way that almost belied the record breaking speed with which she performed the act. The tank top followed, and Erin snickered at the garment that remained.

"What?" Holtz frowned.

"It's purple. Just... didn't think it'd be purple."

"Hey, I didn't say anything about you, Miss — Miss Faded Leopard Print 2016."

Erin ignored her, trailing a fingertip over the surprising muscles of her stomach, lips wandering down the base of her throat to nip at her collarbone. A distinct groan rumbled in Holtz's chest.

"It was on sale," Erin explained, fingers curling into her abdomen. "And you shouldn't complain if you want to see it again."

"Uhuh."

Erin smirked.

"You're blushing."

"I'm blushing."

When, at last, Erin had the squirming engineer undressed (mostly — she'd wanted the purple in stark contrast against her skin as long as possible, and the pineapple print boxer briefs were too good to discard too quickly), the real challenge began. Her hands wandered, wanting, over the expanse of her hips, down her thighs... stalling.

"Need some pointers? I think I've got a manual around here —"

"I'm fine."

She stared down at Holtzmann, the arch of her chest, the breath rising her stomach and letting it fall.

"I'm fine. I want to touch you."

"Okay."

Another long pause.

"I'm just nervous. It's unnerving."

"Unnerving?"

"Doing anything for the first time. It's like... like —"

Her mind scrambled for a comparison, anything to liken it to, anything to make this seem more grounded —

— and the feeling of something warm under her fingers brought her back to earth. She glanced down. Holtzmann had taken hold of one of her hands and slid it over —

"Oh," Erin murmured, frozen. 

After a moment, she rippled her knuckles, fingers gently kneading through royal fabric, "That's... hm. Not so different." 

Erin smiled at the way Holtz's lips struggled with the word, "From?"

Anyone is encouraged by the early signs of success. A scientist? Even more so. 

She leaned down, kissed just below her ear, almost chaste, gentle. "You know." 

Holtz squirmed under her, let out a high moan blended delectably with laughter as Erin grazed her teeth over her earlobe, flicked her tongue. 

"Oh my giddy aunt," Holtz managed between panted breaths, a yelp as Erin's hand slid down her stomach, a fruitless effort to yank her boxers down once, twice, finally getting enough space to —

Holtz bucked. Erin held onto the headboard, fingers skating through unfamiliar familiarity. Her legs clamped around Holtz's thigh, a distant synapse understanding the thrill of bull-riders. 

Holtz was mumbling, grating out short directions — _higher, there, just, gentle, curl, harder_ — eyes screwed shut, lips gently parted. Erin had always been a quick study. 

She watched, soaking in the details, as her breaths keyed a pitch higher, the roll of her hips devolving into something more erratic, a broken rhythm of gasps and the grind of Erin against her thigh —

"Fuck —" Holtz whispered, lips buried in her shoulder, nails dug into her back, and Erin bit her lip, let her hold fast, until at last her grip loosened, and she relaxed back into the pillows again. 

They were breathing, hard, out of sync, the sounds weaving together above the honks and thumping music and drunken shouts from the streets below. 

Erin curled her fingers — a husky laugh from Holtzmann, followed by a whimper — before she withdrew. When Erin sat upright, knees clamped on either side of her hips, Holtz was still laughing, a breathless exhausted sound — until Erin reached behind her back, ditching at last that faded leopard print. 

Holtzmann groaned. 

"I've... created a monster."

"And if you're good," Erin murmured, hand flat on her stomach, "I might even try some experiments with you." 

Holtzmann's eyes lit up. 

God, how she loved science.


End file.
